Harry's Chance
by FrankRonaldOrion
Summary: Harry doesn't succeed when he comes back from the dead at the Battle of Hogwarts; instead, he dies once more. Or does he? Follow Harry as a magical miracle leads him to prevent the tragedies he remembers from happening once more.
1. Beginning the Second

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Are these things necessary?

Harry Potter woke up rather quickly. He tried to recall what had caused him to pass out in the first place, and a haze of memories went through his head; dying by the hand of Voldemort, talking to Dumbledore, and once more being alive were clear as day. After that, there was a whirlwind of action. He seemed to recall Voldemort sending a Death Eater to confirm his death, and then a painful cut at his throat.

Harry comprehended. He was dead once more, his chance to right everything ruined by rotten fortune. However, Harry had been dead once; this didn't seem like death. He suddenly realized his eyes were closed, so he opened them.

He looked up to see his mother, with her auburn hair and bright green eyes._ I must be dead, _thought Harry. _There's my mum, after all._ He tried to move his head to look around the room but found he was limited in movement. All he could really see was his Mum's face and the wall behind her. There seemed to be bars behind her as well, but it wasn't quite distinct. Harry had the sudden feeling that he had been here before.

"Oh James! A son, our son!" Lily Evans Potter cried joyously. There wasn't much that could have made her happier at that moment. Harry was glad; he desperately wanted his mother to be happy, at least. Ron, Hermione, and most of all Ginny were not going to be happy with his death. Having resigned to die once already meant he had accepted that, but it hurt a bit more after being given a second chance.

But something still seemed odd. If Harry was dead and in the afterlife with his parents, why did his body feel like it had atrophied? Surely he wouldn't be subdued to being paralyzed in his reunion, and judging from his experience with Dumbledore, he _should _be able to control his own maneuverability. Then he was moved rapidly around to face his father.

James Potter looked just like he had in all the photos Harry had ever seen of him. His untidy black hair stuck up everywhere, and the grin on his face was one Harry had worn himself after any happy event, such as winning the House Quidditch Cup. After drinking in his father's appearance, he noticed that there were several people around his father. They had robes that reminded him of the Healers at St. Mungos. Were they angels? Harry didn't think angels wore lime green, somehow.

"A healthy son, at that. Look, Lily, he's got your eyes! I wonder if he'll grow up with his mother's brains as well?" said James excitedly. This thoroughly confused Harry. Hadn't his parents been watching his progress throughout the wizarding world this entire time? Why did they suddenly act as if this is the first time they've seen him?

A hurricane of understanding hit Harry's mind within seconds, blowing away most of his contentment to reveal a large bed of shock. The only conclusion he could come to was that this _was _the first time they had seen him. Harry had not died, not completely; he was in his old body, and he had just been born again.

As if to explain to his parents his situation, Harry tried to make a noise, but only succeeded in making a loud wail; babies couldn't talk. Harry didn't spend much time studying human development in his Muggle schooling, but he remembered something about the vocal chords being undeveloped, as the rest of his muscles were. Reteaching his body to walk and talk will be his job for the next year and a half, it seemed.

Thinking of the future made Harry realize an important fact. _I'm back here, and I remember what __happened... what will happen? I think I can help things, then. I'll do it better this time. Sooner!_ The thought of making sure the wizarding world was safe before it had to deal with Voldemort's second war made the looming year of frustration bearable. Harry stopped screaming and started smiling. His father smiled back.

* * *

The next year of Harry's life was one of the happiest he'd ever experienced. His mother and father were more caring parents than he could have ever imagined. James held him while Quidditch matches played over the radio, and cheered with Harry when Puddlemere United scored a win. Lily entertained her son for hours with her miniature fireworks charms.

Harry did his best to keep an ear out for news of how long he had with his parents, however. On July 31st he tried his absolute best to enjoy the quiet birthday. He remembered just after crashing into a table with his new toy broom that his mother wrote of an awful vase she received from her sister in a letter Harry had read long ago. He giggled while looking upon the broken pieces of the gift, and had the inclination to keep giggling even after his mother had scolded him.

After his birthday Harry did the best he could to enjoy his life while he still had access to the magic world. It would only be a few months until he lost his family once more. When not playing on the broom, Harry spent his time trying to re-obtain his voice. The most he could do by his birthday was say mum and dad. His goal had been to say "Dudley, be quiet" by Halloween, but he never quite got there.

Halloween arrived fast. On the 31st, he clung to his parents as much as possible. His father didn't seem to notice anything, but his mother commented on his tenseness.

"Harry seems a bit needy today, don't you think dear?" Lily said, sounding concerned.

"He's only a year old, Lily. I think he just-- what was that?" Harry looked up; there was a distinct sound of movement, and it was definitely hostile.

"He's here! Lily, take Harry upstairs, run! I'll hold him off as long as I can." Harry thought for a moment that he himself must have sounded like his father at times, wildly rushing to save someone at what seemed like impossible odds. Harry wasn't sure that he could be as rash as to forget his wand, like his father did, but similarities were there.

Harry was ripped from his thoughts by a large thump from downstairs. Lily was breathing very quickly now, and someone was walking up the stairs. A high-pitched, icy voice screamed, "_Reducto!_" and the door to the stairwell crumbled. Voldemort stood in front of Harry and Lily, much liker a tower in the dark. Maybe it was because of Harry's relative height, but Voldemort seemed so much taller than he remembered. His face lacked the serpentine quality it had the last time Harry saw him, as well. Lily quickly put Harry in the crib behind her.

"No! Don't hurt him! Take me instead!"

"Foolish girl, move out of the way."

"NO! I won't let you kill Harry! Kill me instead!"

"_Avada Kedavra!_" Green light flooded the room, and his mother crumpled to the floor. Harry was about to burst into tears; he might have known it was coming, but seeing his mother just fall so limp right in front of him...

"Nothing will stop me, especially not you. _Avada Kedavra!_" Green light filled the room once more, but this time it was followed by a loud explosion. Harry had felt a light tap on his forehead and nothing more, but when the dust cleared he could see that the entire room was covered in debris; the wall beside Harry had collapsed, and the right side of his vision was full of twinkling stars.

In front of him, a battered Voldemort looked like he had all the blood forcibly sucked from his veins. The shell of a man looked more frightened than Harry had ever seen him in his previous life; Harry didn't think anyone's eyes could become that wide.

As Voldemort slithered away, the Boy Who Lived felt the emotional weight of the night take hold of him, and he began to cry like the baby he was. It was all he could think to do until he closed his eyes and fell asleep.


	2. Dursleys, Round Two

Disclaimer: Thing you should already know about how I don't own fiction I didn't write. This is a courtesy, I think? I don't even think I'm legally required to write this. Who knows, copyright and trademark laws are the most impossible thing to comprehend besides patent laws. And if we're on the subject of needless courtesies I could go ahead and thank people for reading (why would I do that? why do people do that?) and beg for reviews (that's really classy).

The next morning, as before, Harry's Aunt Petunia found baby Harry on her front step. But unlike before, he had a lot of perspective.

Having finally remastered the art of speech, Harry made sure to torment his foster family with questions about his parents: why there weren't any pictures of them, how they died, and why he was living with them instead of someone who cared. Petunia seemed to take the questions well enough, with just a hint of bitter denial. Perhaps her own curiosity that she hid behind an armor of apparent disinterest in others allowed her to relate better, or maybe it was the letter that Dumbledore had left her. The effect on Vernon Dursley was not as ambiguous. Vernon very clearly resented any line of questioning on any matter, much less on the "freaks" to which he was unluckily related, and responded with shouting and yelling and sometimes a slap.

Harry didn't mind these incidents as much as he did as a kid, partially because he knew there were worse things out there, and partially because he was trying a new tactic. _Maybe I can wear them down to where they'll cave in and tell something akin to the truth. Or maybe they'll at least be convinced that harsh punishments don't work well._

Dudley was another matter. When they both started school, Dudley was quick to bully him. Years of worse bullies at Hogwarts made Dudley seem laughable in comparison, so Harry took to the habit of using exactly that sort of response: laughter. It seemed to bother Dudley after a year, because he stopped attacking him physically. He still talked about him behind his back, though, because none of the other kids acted any differently. _It's not as if I'll remember any of them after I'm eleven anyway,_ thought Harry solemnly.

The second time around school work was much easier, so Harry took to showing up Dudley in the grade department constantly. Dudley, not willing to bother with violence anymore, tried in vain to think of ways to annoy Harry, including framing him for things he'd done (easily accomplished by saying "I saw Harry do it") and insulting his parents. Even the comments about Harry's parents were simply passed off with a smile and a shake of his head. It finally clicked during their last year in school together to try beating Harry's grades, but by then Harry had such a head start in the studiousness department that all Dudley could do was benefit himself, much to his own dismay.

Outside of school, Harry tried his best to do more reading. He didn't know as much as he probably should about the Muggle world, and it wasn't as if he was doing anything useful. He also took to visiting Ms. Figg often (when he could sneak away from the Dursleys, who required him and his newly questioning mouth around much less than he remembered), and tried to ask her about his parents to see how much she'd let slip. Apparently she was under Dumbledore's orders even then, because she didn't say one word about the Wizarding world. Regular contact from him seemed to make her less bitter about her Squib status, though, because she was more cordial than he remembered.

The summer of 1991 came at an astounding pace, and Ms. Figg broke her leg just as she had before. Harry wondered whether this meant his memory was reliable enough to work in the long term for little events or if it was simply random happenstance at a coincidental date. Either way, Harry was once again in the back of his uncle's car on his way to the zoo. He didn't mention any flying motorbikes on the way there this time, though he had curiously dreamed of said motorbike the night before. The day went much as before, up until the group entered the reptile house.

Harry didn't know what he was going to do. A Brazilian serpent who longed for freedom lived in there. Should he set the snake free again, or should he not risk being shut in his cupboard for so long? After a long discussion in his head, Harry finally decided to let things happen as they would. Unsurprisingly, the snake did not move when Dudley's chubby fingers hit the glass of his tank. Harry moved in front of the tank after Dudley and sadly looked at the boa constrictor.

"Sure is a shame that he's so spoiled." The snake nodded.

"I can't imagine being raised like that, could you? I'm sure you were raised closer to me. No parents of your own, a foreign environment." The snake looked at Harry rather curiously after these statements. It was almost as if it was sizing up Harry for the hidden knowledge he clearly contained.

Harry nodded, his verdict reached. "Well, I guess I'll be letting you out again." The glass faded away much slower this time, and it took a second for the snake to realize what had happened. As soon as he recognized his chance, the snake slithered off as fast as possible. Harry did something different and screamed, as the snake played around with frightened zoo-goers. When it reached the end of the hall, it stood up and hissed, "Thanks."

Dudley had been at the other end of the Reptile House that day, so he was spared much embarrassment and fright. Uncle Vernon didn't seem to think that Harry was as innocent as he appeared, however, and confined him to his cupboard for a week afterward. It wasn't as bad as it had been the first time, which gave Harry hope; it meant that other things could be changed in the same way, that this _will_ be a second chance.

* * *

July 24th was the start of the rest of Harry's second life, he knew immediately. Harry went to get the mail after being barked at by his uncle for the fourth time that morning. Dudley had received his uniform for Smeltings already and had a habit of enthusiastically rapping his new stick on anything nearby, excluding Harry, and then blaming it on Harry, so getting the mail was a nice diversion. On the very top of the pile was a distinctive parchment envelope that was labeled in a very familiar emerald-green ink. The entire address was there, including his cupboard.

Rather than stand there startled, Harry pocketed the envelope safely before he could have it stolen. The rest of the mail was promptly delivered to Uncle Vernon, who remarked on his sister's illness and nothing more. After breakfast, Harry made an excuse as soon as he could to go see Ms. Figg.

Once he was at her house, he quickly showed the envelope to her. "Do you know what this is?" Harry said, trying his absolutely best to sound as if he didn't already know. Ms. Figg looked rather shocked, though it might have just been pain from her broken leg. She must have expected the Dursleys to be the ones he would go to with his letter, but one look from Harry sent her all the information she needed.

"Ah, yes, I think I might. But let's look at it first. I might be wrong, after all," Ms. Figg said with more than a bit of hesitation. Harry didn't waste much time opening the letter and looking at it; it was identical to the one before.

"Witchcraft and Wizardry? And they await my owl?" Harry said with as much wonder as he could muster. Ms. Figg looked like she was going to faint.

"Oh, Harry, there's so much you don't know... I don't suppose the Dursleys told you much, did they? I always told Dumbledore that they were the worst people for the job of raising you, I always did. He says he has his reasons..." Ms. Figg began to ramble on and on. It took Harry shaking her a bit to get her out of her trance.

"Oh! Sorry dear. Well, I suppose we'd best send that letter, then. Oh, Terren, where are you?" A large tawny owl emerged from one of the side rooms that she had steered Harry away from when possible. Harry decided at that point that it was safe to stop acting surprised.

"Could you get me some parchment, dear? There's some on the table in there." Harry got the parchment and gave it to her. She quickly scribbled a response, which Harry rather rudely read as she wrote.

_Dear Professor,_

_Harry has his letter and he came to me of all people with it. I don't think he trusts the Dursleys to know about this, so he'll need someone to take him to Diagon Alley. My leg is still broken, so maybe you could send Hagrid. He'd love to see the boy. _

_I'll try and explain what I can to him, so he won't be completely blind. He's a nice boy, so I'm sure he'll be an excellent student._

_Arabella Figg_

_P.S. You might want to do something about his living arrangements at the Dursleys. The address said he slept in a cupboard under some stairs!_

Backing away to pretend he hadn't read the letter, Harry watched Ms. Figg roll up the parchment and hand it to Terren. "Be a dear and take this to Dumbledore." The tawny owl took off out a window, leaving Ms. Figg and Harry alone together. Ms. Figg sat for a few seconds and then immediately looked like she was very cross at something.

"Ms. Figg? Why do you look so angry?" Harry asked.

"Oh, it's those people you live with! The nerve! Sleeping under the stairs! No growing boy should deal with that sort of treatment. I always thought you looked a bit underfed, but I assumed you were just naturally skinny. Oh, how could they!" Ms. Figg looked furious. Harry had only seen her like this once before, when Mundungus Fletcher left his post of watching Harry to get some stolen cauldrons. _At least I'll get a room again,_ thought Harry.

"But enough of that." She forcibly calmed herself. "You need to know where you're going. Whether or not you know it, you are a wizard, Harry. In fact, you're the most famous wizard of this age, besides Dumbledore. But before you can go out and do things that will undoubtedly gain you even more fame than you could ever need, you need to go to school. Hogwarts is the best there is, so I hear." It was a technical explanation, but Harry supposed it could suffice.

She went on to explain the reasons for his fame and who his parents were. Harry had heard all of this before, so it wasn't very interesting; he instead spent the time observing her reactions to specific parts of the story: her teary eyes when she talked about his parents' deaths, her bitterness when explaining his fame, and her longing when she talked about Hogwarts.

At some point in the conversation, Harry asked, "Who is Dumbledore?"

"Dumbledore," she said as if she were talking about an old relationship. "He's a very good man, one of the most powerful wizards out there. Bit of a loon, but he's deadly brilliant. He runs Hogwarts, of course. He's the one who knew what to do with you. I'm regretting going along with it slightly, but I can't think of many others who could be trusted with raising you. You'll see him when you get to Hogwarts."

Harry had one more question to ask, one he didn't entirely know the answer to. "How much do my aunt and uncle know?"

Ms. Figg's lips pursed together. "They know most of it. They're Muggles, see, non-magic folk, so they don't know about the war or anything, but they do know your parents were wizards, and they know that they didn't die in a car crash. I think they might be a bit apprehensive about those facts, so you've grown up uneducated. I just hope they don't react to harshly to Hagrid, he's such a nice man. Furious temper though..." Ms. Figg looked thoughtfully for a moment, as if Hagrid's temper wasn't such a bad thing with the Dursleys.

"You can't tell them that I know this. They'd likely not want you coming here anymore, and I'd be disappointed in that." She paused. "You should go now, and try to act normal. You don't want them picking up that you know something until Hagrid arrives."

Harry nodded, took his letter, walked out the door, and waved farewell to the crippled old Squib who had kindly told him what he already knew. Now that he was going to reenter the Wizarding world, Harry's spirit took on a sort of flying leap into the skies. He tried his best to look sour for the Dursleys, of course, but he wasn't even the slightest bit irritated when he spent an hour cleaning the dishes because Dudley broke them with his Smeltings stick.


	3. Another Day in the City

Disclaimer: I'm a guy. This automatically excludes me from being in the set of people who wrote Harry Potter, as that set contains exactly one person who is female.

The next day a loud booming knock sounded through the house after Uncle Vernon had left for work. Dudley screamed, "Stop banging on the walls, freak!" while Harry went to the door. Standing in the doorway was Rubeus Hagrid. The half-giant was a foot over the door frame and had to bend down to look into the house.

"Hullo!" Hagrid exclaimed cheerfully. "Yeh must be Harry. Dunno if Arabella mentioned me, but I'm here ter see yeh. Me name's Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Yer aunt and uncle in? Dumbledore wanted me ter speak ter 'em 'fore we get goin'." Hagrid was smiling and clearly wanted to talk longer, but Harry knew he needed to be moving quickly; a man as large as Hagrid is sure to attract attention.

"Um, yes, my Aunt Petunia's here." Harry said nervously. "I don't think they know I'm going to there, yet, though, so you might want to be careful." Hagrid was unpredictable in situations like these. All it would take is one harsh word from Petunia about Dumbledore and something would happen. Still, Petunia wouldn't be the one to say anything; it would be Vernon, and Vernon wasn't there.

Hagrid stooped down to enter the doorway, and crouched a bit to try and get through the hall; it looked like an adult was trying to get in a children's play fort. Aunt Petunia was quickly notified of her visitor when she heard the groundskeeper's heavy boots hitting her tiled floor, and when she arrived to inspect any damages she did not look happy about his presence.

"You. You're with _him,_ aren't you?" Petunia said with as much bitterness as she said anything about the Wizarding world.

"You're his aunt, then? Let's keep this short, me an' Harry've got a busy day." Hagrid gave a cough, then looked at Petunia seriously. "Harry's going ter Hogwarts. Dumbledore said you'd know 'bout Hogwarts, so I'm not gonna explain that. I'm takin' him to get his things. Now, what I _am_ here 'bout is where Harry is sleepin'. Dumbledore says he was sleepin' under some stairs?" The last sentence was said with a threat attached in Hagrid's most subtle fashion, not unlike a club to the head.

"He _knows?_" Petunia looked genuinely worried. She quickly considered her options. "He's sleeping in the spare bedroom."

"Dumbledore said yeh'd say sommat like that. Guess we'd better go then, eh Harry?" Hagrid looked relieved at the brevity of the encounter and his stay in the Dursley home. Harry was just glad he was about to be out of the house.

Before they walked outside, Petunia said one more thing. "We're not going to pay for him."

Hagrid laughed a deep, throaty laugh. "Don't yeh worry 'bout that." Harry and Hagrid stepped out of the house.

Harry was just about to wonder exactly how they were going to leave to London when he saw a familiar motorbike.

"You drove in on that?" Harry asked excitedly. He'd never had a true ride on his godfather's motorcycle, since the last time he was on it there were Death Eaters trying to kill him.

"Well, I don' like ter ride it much, now. Reminds me of a bad mem'ry. This's the only way ter get 'round near Muggles, though." Hagrid said this with a pang of sadness. Harry could only imagine how he felt about the previous owner of the bike. Making sure he had his letter, Harry climbed into the sidecar.

"Yeh ready?" Hagrid asked. Harry nodded. "Let's go!" He turned on the bike, revved the engine, and sped out of Little Whinging. Even though they were on the ground, Harry could tell that the motorbike was going faster than any bike had a right to. It wasn't a smooth ride, but it was definitely a unique experience.

The ride to London wasn't very long, but it gave Harry and Hagrid a bit of bonding time. Harry asked him simple questions like "How do you do magic?" and "Where is Hogwarts?" and other things that showed Harry trusted Hagrid. Hagrid was more than happy to answer and was in the middle of explaining about the Forbidden Forest when they had arrived at a street that was near the Leaky Cauldron.

When they reached the bar, Harry and Hagrid walked in rather nonchalantly. Tom the barman looked up, saw Hagrid, and smiled. "Hagrid! The usual, is it?"

"Not today, Tom. Hogwarts business." Hagrid patted Harry's shoulder, which still made his knees groan.

It seemed everyone had suddenly realized that the scrawny boy next to Hagrid was there, as they all went silent and stared in awe simultaneously. Tom was ecstatic. "Great Merlin, is that...?"

Harry spotted the door to the back courtyard and tugged at Hagrid to move. He wasn't interested in being on display, especially not now. After a few seconds of polite pardons and some impolite pushing, they made their way out of the bar.

Diagon Alley's entrance was as unassuming as ever. Harry hoped he could see a few of his old friends here this time; he was here nearly a week earlier, after all.

The wall in front of Harry expanded to reveal the first blatantly magical place that Harry can remember seeing. The bustling crowds and the exciting shops always made him feel like buying something whenever he was here. Hagrid was a useful battering ram for bashing through the crowds, and they easily pressed through to the end of the street and the white marble building where Harry's gold was kept.

They walked in and soon were on their way through the caverns to Harry's vault. The vast fortune left to him by the Potters (and likely the Peverells, now that Harry thought about it) was untouched. Harry made sure to get a bit more spending money this time and emerged with a large sack of galleons.

There was once again not a thing inside vault seven hundred and thirteen besides the Philosopher's Stone. Harry briefly contemplated whether or not Dumbledore rented this vault expressly for the purpose of storing the Stone, but then he looked at Hagrid and remembered how nauseous the Gringotts carts made him. The half-giant was the color of seaweed by the time they came to fresh air.

"Listen, Harry, can yeh go and get yer robes while I get a drink? Them carts make me sick." Harry nodded, not wanting to see his friend so green, and stepped into Madam Malkin's. He half expected to see Draco Malfoy sneering on a stool somewhere, forgetting that it was too early in the summer for that. Madam Malkin greeted him kindly.

"Hogwarts, dear?" Harry nodded. "Got another one in the back being fitted just now." Harry wondered if Draco had indeed made an appearance early on, until he stepped to the back and saw a round face with light brown hair and a nervous expression. Madam Malkin began to measure Harry while he made sure he wasn't hallucinating. After a few blinks Neville Longbottom still sat on the stool.

"H-hello. Are you going to Hogwarts too?" Young Neville sputtered. Harry knew immediately that he wasn't imagining it. He was suddenly struck with an idea.

"Yeah. I'm hoping to learn a lot, I was raised by Muggles."

"You'll still do better than me, I bet. My uncle almost thought I was a Squib." Neville looked depressed by his lack of confidence, so Harry kept trying.

"I think you'll be fine. You seem like a nice bloke." Neville blushed.

"Thanks. I'm Neville Longbottom. Who're you?"

"Harry," he said. "Do you know anything about the houses?" asked Harry, trying to call up something Neville might know that he didn't.

"Um, there's four. I hear that all of the Slytherins became followers of You-Know-Who, so I don't think I'll be there. I'll bet I'll be in Hufflepuff, though; no one important is ever there." Neville still was convinced of his inability. Harry thought some more.

"Maybe you'll be in another house. Did your parents go to Hogwarts? Maybe you'll be in their house."

"Well, er, they were in Gryffindor. That's where the brave go." Neville looked uncomfortable with talking about his parents, but Harry knew that he wouldn't hold it against him in the end.

"I don't see why you wouldn't end up there. You're going into this scared, but you're doing it anyway, right? And when you do get into Gryffindor, then that proves you're brave." Neville's body looked lightened by this.

Madam Malkin finished measuring Harry and rushed him off. Neville smiled weakly at Harry as he exited the shop to find Hagrid holding ice cream.

The rest of the day was relatively uneventful, but Harry enjoyed revisiting all of the shops, since the last time he was there he was breaking into a bank and hadn't much chance to enjoy the trip. Hagrid sent him into Flourish and Blotts unaccompanied, saying he had to go get something, and Harry took this opportunity to buy a few books he felt would be useful for auxiliary education. To his amusement, he saw a particularly long-titled book that he felt might actually be useful: _A Study into the Possibility of Reversing the Actual and Metaphysical Effects of Natural Death, with Particular Regard to the Reintegration of Essence and Matter_ by Bertrand de Pensées-Profondes. He bought it at once, along with his other spellbooks. The shopkeeper looked a little oddly at him after the purchase, though Harry didn't care.

Much to his surprise, Harry met with not only Hagrid but his old (but now young) snowy owl Hedwig. Hagrid grinned at his reaction. "Thought yeh might like it. Early birthday present; I hear yeh turn eleven on the thirty-first." Harry just kept smiling as he took her cage.

"Well, all that's left now is yer wand. Ollivander's is the best, jus' down here." Hagrid took Harry to the wandmaker's shop. Hagrid decided to wait outside; he was a little unsettled by Ollivander, it seemed.

Ollivander was as aloof as he always was and recognized Harry immediately as he came in. "Harry Potter. I thought you would be here soon. Your mother's eyes, I see? She bought her wand from me, you know. Ten and a quarter inches, made of willow. Excellent for charms, though I hear she was rather adept at potions as well." The strangeness of hearing such intimate knowledge of his mother's abilities startled Harry.

"Of course, your father had a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Wonderful for transfiguration. Hmm..." Ollivander closed in on Harry, and Harry was rather uncomfortably aware that Ollivander was staring at his scar.

"That scar... I sold the wand that did that, as well." That fact still chilled Harry's bones. It was a testament to the ability of Ollivander as a wandmaker that he had customers despite his demeanor. "Yew, thirteen-and-half inches. Such a powerful wand, in such unscrupulous hands..." He seemed a little remorseful of this fact. "No matter. You are here for your own, which I have no doubt will do great things as well."

Ollivander looked around and grabbed his tape measure. The tape measure began its work of measuring Harry's body, while Ollivander fluttered around the shelves. He stopped at a particular wand. "You've got an air about you. I wonder..."

"Er, do you have an idea which one I should get?"

"The wand chooses the wizard, Harry, and they don't do this lightly. Another's wand is always weaker than your own." Ollivander nearly floated over to Harry. He opened the box and offered the wand inside to the boy. "This one, well, it's a curious idea. Have a try."

Harry lifted the wand out of the box and immediately recognized the wand: holly, eleven inches, with a phoenix feather core that had a twin. One swoosh made some sparks fly out the end in a magnificent display.

Ollivander seemed delighted. "Oh my, but that is impressive. Your wand seems like it's been yours since you were born. And this is so curious..."

Harry asked, "What's so curious?"

"Why, Harry, that wand has a phoenix feather core. The phoenix who gave your feather also gave one other; this feather... it was in Voldemort's wand, the wand that scarred you." Ollivander didn't say this with regret like he had when first describing Voldemort's wand; he was genuinely interested in why this had occurred.

"Maybe the scar left part of him on me?" Harry supplied helpfully and truthfully. He wondered whether Ollivander would consider the implications outside of his trade, but then realized that wouldn't happen.

"That's an interesting theory, Harry, interesting indeed." Ollivander stared at the wand and said, "I'm also curious about how quickly it bonded to you. It was more like you had already known the wand for several years, as if I had stolen it from you as a boy. I wonder..."

Harry was starting to get nervous about the man's observations. How much could one wand maker realize?. "What do you wonder, sir?"

"Going on your theory concerning the scar, I can only suppose that the phoenix feather in your wand adapted to the part of Voldemort in you. Yes, that seems likely, though still very curious." The man was much quieter as Harry paid for the wand.

Harry left the shop and Diagon Alley without much commotion. Soon he was on the way to the Dursleys again, and starting to think about the upcoming year. Hagrid was looking gloomy about the end of his day with Harry.

"Can I come visit you, at Hogwarts?" Harry asked. Harry was getting very used to asking questions to which he knew the answers.

"Would yeh really? I'd like that, make yeh tea. Bring any friends yeh make, too. Any one o' yer mates is gold, I'm sure." Hagrid brightened significantly at this news. Even this early, after only a day with Harry, Hagrid clearly enjoyed his company.

It was a enjoyable ride back, with the sunset making even the suburban dullness of Little Whinging look pleasant. But eventually they arrived in front of Number Four, Privet Drive, and Harry was reluctant to go. Hagrid gave Harry a pat on the back, and sped off. Harry took his books and equipment and owl up to the house, where he barely stepped on the doorstep before his uncle opened it.

Vernon looked particularly irritated, but not as much as Harry had seen; it was obvious that he had just lost an argument with Petunia, judging by his red face. Silently he moved aside as Harry marched into the house. Petunia was waiting at the foot of the stairs.

"So. You've got your things. When do you leave to go..." She hesitated for almost ten seconds. "To school?" she finally let out. The words left an aftertaste in her mouth, Harry noted.

"September first. I need to be at King's Cross Station, before eleven o'clock."

Vernon was thinking it over; Petunia turned to him and glared heavily, which invisibly communicated an important fact. Vernon looked directly at Harry.

"I'll be taking you, boy. No funny business before you leave, or you might not have a ride. And you might lose the room we are so thoughtfully giving you." Vernon walked away muttering something that sounded an awful lot like "bloody thugs." Petunia followed after him, still glaring but now at Harry. Harry went up to his new room, and began to spread out his things.

A short while later he heard a knock on his door and opened it to find Dudley standing there.

"You got this room. You were gone all day. Mummy says you're going to some school far away. _What did you do?_" Dudley was furious, and Harry was confused.

"I believe your mum still calls me a freak, so I don't think anything's changed," Harry said rather harshly. This weird situation was making Harry nervous; Dudley had never accosted him in such a manner before, and it suddenly occurred to Harry that he had never met Hagrid this time. He might never have a fear of magic.

"You, you did something, didn't you? That day at the zoo. You did something to the glass." Dudley said. "You've always been doing weird stuff. Did you do weird stuff to get this?" Harry wondered if Dudley was afraid that he'd set snakes on him. Dudley shifted into an aggressive posture.

"That's awfully observant of you," Harry said. "I'll tell you about it only if you shut your mouth when I'm home from now on."

Dudley relaxed and considered this very carefully. The first Dudley would have quickly said no, but this Dudley seemed to recognize that Harry was more than he appeared. Perhaps it was because he didn't let himself be pushed around by Dudley this time. Harry realized that Dudley inherited his mother's curiosity, even if he never showed it.

Dudley finally decided and nodded. "Okay. You win. You made making fun of you boring, you made teachers like you with your grades, and now you're finally getting away. I want to know _why_."

Harry was surprised, but not the least bit angry. "Come in, shut the door. I don't think your mum would like this chat."


End file.
